


more admirable than was dream'd

by Highsmith (quimtessence)



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Immortal (The Old Guard), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Coming Untouched, Dream Sex, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Filthy, Implied Blasphemy I Guess, Incubus Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Kink Meme, M/M, Making Out, Modern Era, Priest Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Rough Sex, Smut, Succubi & Incubi, Top Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Trope Subversion/Inversion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26310556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quimtessence/pseuds/Highsmith
Summary: Lately, they've been doing this every single night, Nicky's tired brain apparently needing to conjure up devils to fuck the exhaustion out of him, or merely letting in already-existing ones to consume his soul one sip at a time, thrust after thrust. But, afterwards, he wakes from only three or four hours of sleep refreshed in his mind, though sore in his body, his days spent barely acknowledging what his nights are made out of.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 62
Kudos: 488





	more admirable than was dream'd

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this](https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/2726.html?thread=666278#cmt666278) Kink Meme prompt. This door-kicking prompt got me absolutely distracted, so... good fucking work, OP.
> 
> Title from Walt Whitman.

Once, during his exchange year in Frankfurt, on a school trip to the Goethe House, he found himself in front of one of the versions of Fuseli's presumably odious painting hanging on a greyish-red wall, the one with the imp perched on a white-clad woman, a terror made concrete right in front of Nicky's eyes.

With that dark canvas, the eye should have been pulled to the woman's pristine dress tightly stretched across her chest. Even the mount thrusting its head through the velvety curtains should have drawn his eye towards it, but, Nicky recalls all too vividly, it was the demon with its sharp ears and intent stare upon the woman which arrested him for copious enough minutes one of his peers got sent to retrieve him.

As if through a haze, he remembers finding it... stirring. In a way. An anomaly at lunch or even supper the night before rolling around in his stomach, perhaps in his veins, presented itself for the rest of the trip, although thinking on his ailing constitution brings forth the sickly gleam of the canvas itself. Memory playing tricks.

His dreams are another trick. One he cannot bring himself to abhor.

He falls asleep later than he meant to, well past midnight, although he's thankful it isn't another night where he wakes suddenly to find himself hunched over his desk, lamp still shining by his side, back stiff. His alarm is set for five, his duties piling on in recent months. His rectory needs tending, the men he's hired to build the annex to the current establishment—small kitchen, tiny lavatory, modest bedroom—set to arrive early.

It's with this last hazy thought of tomorrow's work that he slips into sleep. The light in the room flickers, even though he turned it off hours ago, before getting into his narrow little bed. He's aware with the certainty of too many nights to count behind him that it's a dream, one in a long series.

He rises on his elbows and then gets his palms beneath him to glance over in the corner of the room by the door. Unnecessarily he mutters, "You." Familiar. Touchable. A nightmare made solid.

A nightmare currently shaking his head and sighing. "Don't do that," he admonishes.

Nicky blinks, suddenly parched. The light is truly very bright, brighter than his pathetic lamp should be able to offer. "What am I doing?" Other than arguing with a dream, that is.

Walking closer, measured step by measured step, Joe ( _"Call me Joe," he said, as his hips flexed to hit the backs of Nicky's thighs, flesh slapping against flesh, his rim spasming violently around the root of Joe's cock on each bottoming grind inside him._ ) approaches his bed. Dream logic being as it is, they shouldn't have to deal with the minutiae of undressing, but Nicky is grateful he has a shirt to grip, a belt to unbuckle, trousers to unbutton, if only to watch Joe's body revealed. To watch him step out of his clothes until he's hovering by the side of the bed, broad and prideful.

"What am I doing?" he repeats. Feels important to ask him again, to prod for an answer.

"You're pretending to be shocked, as if you don't invite me here every night." His arm sweeps the room, while the other encircles Nicky's back beneath his thin sleep T-shirt, warm palm landing on the opposite side to clutch at his hip. Their faces close in, breaths mingling.

The logic of having a dream _breathe_ fails Nicky completely, but the satisfaction of hearing the changes in it, the little shifts indicating Nicky's effect on him as the night progresses, overrides figuring out the mystery of such a thing. He could ask, but Joe's undoubtedly sinister provenance can only mean he would lie. Wouldn't he? Nicky's unsure of much where Joe is concerned, and it's best he leave well enough be, although the curiosity persists, gaining fervour with each nightly visit.

"I'll be sure to welcome you as bored and weary as I can next time," he says tartly, though his arms rise to grip at his shoulders, held steady by the arm at his back.

Joe smirks against his cheek. "Next time?"

Scoffing, Nicky says, "Who's pretending now?"

Locking eyes with him, Joe's smile vanishes. His eyes glance to his mouth and back again several times before he presses in, chest to chest, mouth nudging at Nicky's own until he opens up for his tongue, eyes finally closing. He can't say for certain when he parts his legs, but suddenly Joe's kneeling between them, the muscles on the insides of Nicky's thighs stretching shakily to accommodate his hips. Joe's cock nudges at his own through his underwear, and he can feel himself wetting the fabric where his cockhead has started leaking, his toes curling at the very thought.

Burying his face in his neck to nose behind his ear, Joe helps him lie back on the bed. He hinders more than helps with getting Nicky's shirt and underwear off, hands groping and mouth insistent, but they finally touch skin to skin, Joe slotting back between Nicky's splayed legs, forearms by his ears, noses brushing together.

He dips in to renew the kiss, but Nicky evades him, head shifting on the pillow. He watches his upper lip curl into a half-smile, breathing getting harsher each time he misses Nicky's mouth, but the tease can only last so long, Nicky breathless and panting by the time he gets to have Joe's mouth again, legs tangling together at the back of Joe's knees, hands in his hair holding on against the electric precipice of Joe fucking his tongue into his mouth as if he means to devour him.

He couldn't say how long they simply kiss (though there's nothing _simple_ about it), but, when he next abandons Joe's mouth to gasp wetly for more air, his lips are a little swollen and definitely sore, wet and tingling, primed for more, which Joe dives in to give him straight away.

It should be distinctly odd that each time they do this they spend what must be the better part of an hour licking into each other. It's not soft and open. Nicky doesn't know what it is, other than overwhelming and feverish and _necessary_ , bringing forth gasps and shivers and threatening to wreck him all on its own. Luckily, Joe always knows when it's too much, too close, and lets off with a final peck at the corner of his mouth to whisper, "Turn around," which Nicky does, knees and elbows, even as quivers sizzle down his spine, anticipation bubbling.

Objectively, he knows it's deeper like this, that Joe can go rougher, never mind Nicky will wake up with bruises at the backs of his thighs anyway, but he misses the kisses. Stupidly misses Joe's face hovering next to his.

Pondering such nonsense barely lasts the minute it takes Joe to find the tube of Vaseline hidden in the lowest drawer of his nightstand (nonexistent in the light of day, mere figment in a dream, verisimilitude through silly details) and slather two of his fingers in it before bringing them to Nicky's hole while his other hand holds one cheek aside to make room for himself.

A moan edged with more desperation than Nicky thought could fit inside him bursts out when Joe starts with both fingers at once, no reprieve, no mercy, just his knuckles stretching him deliciously, too much and barely enough, Nicky's spine melting in molten waves. It's the best thing he's ever felt, other than Joe's cock stretching him, but that will come soon.

Lately, they've been doing this every single night, Nicky's tired brain apparently needing to conjure up devils to fuck the exhaustion out of him, or merely letting in already-existing ones to consume his soul one sip at a time, thrust after thrust. But, afterwards, he wakes from only three or four hours of sleep refreshed in his mind, though sore in his body, his days spent barely acknowledging what his nights are made out of.

Joe's fingers retreat and Nicky cants his hips back, hole twitching around nothing, forehead and shoulders to the sheets, waiting. He doesn't disappoint ( _"Yes, yes," he gasped as Joe's palm, moist with sweat, gripped sloppily at the nape of his neck and his cock screwed in, nailing the sweet spot inside him unerringly with ungodly aim until his body shivered and quaked, messing up the sheets._ ); he _never_ disappoints. Within seconds Joe's cock, fat at the tip, circles and prods at him, seeking entrance. Nicky knows to push back until, finally, he pops in with a raw stretch he can feel between his shoulder blades and at the back of his throat and behind his eyes. From there, it's a smooth slide in, his body used to opening up, Joe bottoming out with a harsh grunt. Gripping his hip bones hard enough he'll likely leave handprints for days, he pulls out until only the tip is breaching him, then slides back inside with a rough shove that shifts Nicky's knees on the bed. The rhythm he sets up is _perfect_ , Nicky's mind clouding with pleasure from the first.

"Next time," he pants wetly to the side, watching his own fingers twitch in his peripheral vision with each thrust inside, "kiss me all, _uh_ , the way through." He barely manages the words, drooling down the side of his mouth, barely able to swallow properly, but intent to speak out.

Joe tips his head forward, mouth muttering something into the back of his head.

"What?" he garbles messily, hoping whatever sounds he's making resemble at least one intelligible word. His stomach is in shambles, balls drawing up, prick bobbing pathetically between his own legs and dribbling pre-come beneath him. His ears are ringing.

Lifting his mouth from Nicky's hair, forehead brushing the top of his head, Joe says, "Next time don't pretend," as if this is punishment, his own ridiculous dream pettily holding out on him, but, in the next instant, he feels lips at the base of his spine, warm breath, a wet tongue laving the knob of his spine in wide, languorous licks. The flawless aim at his prostate becomes overwhelming. His hole clenches and unclenches, and his cock grows harder still. His fingers scramble at the sheets, desperate and seeking out deliverance, until, deliciously, his cock finally spills, a punch to the gut, Joe quaking behind him, inside him, the best dream Nicky's ever had.

His thirst quenched, sleep finally engulfs him, though it lasts from the blink of an eye to the next, his alarm sounding from nearer his face than he would have preferred, his phone undeterred, technology at its worst. He groans, but lifts a hand to switch it off, burying his face back into his pillow but for another instant before he begins to rise bodily from his bed, the chill of the air in the room outside of his covers the true wake-up call.

Dawn is but for another couple of hours at the very least, he knows. His brain will catch up with the reality of his day, his parish and vows, soon enough. His mind is already clearing of the events of the night as he makes his way across the room, ignoring the shadows which still linger at the edges of his vision, dark curls and dark eyes beckoning him back to bed, his body craving that touch again already. But that's what tonight is for. And the night after. For as long as Nicky lets him in.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't know if you can tell, but I wrote this in three hours. Not what I was planning on doing at two AM, but here we are.
> 
> Comments and kudos very much appreciated. Think of this poor author, trying to recollect art history in the wee hours of the morn... *cries*
> 
> Tumblr: [rhubarbdreams](https://rhubarbdreams.tumblr.com/)


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